IN THE DEADLY TERAI
This part of my friend's diary ends abruptly. During the next few
days it was impossible for him to write a line, and afterwards he
only mentioned briefly the incidents of his further adventures. But
Hoosanee, Gambier Singh and others, with whom I have spoken since, have
given me the details so fully that I can almost see the story passing
before my eyes.
I take it up from the point where the diary breaks off. The writing was
interrupted by Gambier Singh, who came in to tell him that everything
was ready for a start. The Ghoorka captain had not much hope himself of
a happy issue to the enterprise. He had lost too many men in the deadly
Terai not to know its perils, and he did not for one moment imagine
that a tender woman and delicate child would have been able to cross
it safely. But he was too chivalrous and kind of nature to be able to
quench his friend's hopes by expressing his own conviction. He expended
his sympathy in taking care that nothing which he could supply should
be wanting to the success of the enterprise.
Tom was attended now as befitted a person of rank. He rode in front on
a splendid little Arab horse--the gift of Gambier Singh--a small body
of Ghoorka soldiers, armed to the teeth, followed him, and close in the
rear came camels and bullock-carts, laden with camp equipage.
For two days and nights they plodded on. As the jungle closed round
them, and the air grew dark and pestilential, the despondency of
the young rajah increased. Day after day, to the imminent peril of
his life, he left the beaten tracks and made great circuits in the
bush. Now and then, at such times, he came upon sights that would
make his blood run cold--human bones bleaching in the sun, the bodies
of men, who seemed to be sepoys, half gnawed away by wild beasts,
and arms and utensils flung down in the bush. Once, emerging from a
close thicket, he came upon a huge tiger, mumbling over its horrid
feast. His blood was up, and, while the restless fire of the brute's
fierce eyes was upon him, it fell, mortally wounded, over the corpse
it had been devouring. His men, several of whom were close by, were
triumphant, and the beautiful monster was carried off to camp. As for
the conqueror, he turned away groaning--penetrated to the heart by a
sickness for which earth holds no remedy.
It was a sickness of the soul, for his bodily health did not suffer.
While one after another of his attendants sickened, and had to be sent
back, he held on. Even Ganesh, desperately anxious as he was to keep
up, was compelled to give in at last. Hoosanee, although his superb
devotion prevented him from acknowledging it, showed, by the wild look
in his eyes, that he was suffering from fever. Tom saw it all; but he
would not give in. 'Let us at least find Tikaram!' he said to Hoosanee.
'We know that he has gone into this place. Sooner or later we must come
upon his track. He is not alone as they are.'
One day, as they were plodding slowly on, a little cavalcade of men
and camels and Ghoorka soldiers, coming from the opposite direction,
met them. On both sides a halt was immediately called. Tom, who was in
front, saw, as the party opened out, that a litter was being carried
between them. His pulses had begun to beat so furiously that he could
scarcely breathe or speak, and he motioned that Hoosanee should speak
for him. A few words were exchanged. He could not hear them for the
tumult of his senses. Then Hoosanee came up. 'Well!' he said fiercely.
'My master, it is Tikaram. He is dying.'
'If he is _dead_, he must speak to me,' cried Tom.
In the next instant he had sprung from his horse, and was standing
beside the litter. He set aside the curtains and looked in. At the
sight of him, the fever-stricken wretch within, who had been lying in a
kind of trance, seemed to be galvanised into new life.
'Are you the rajah?' he said feebly. 'You--promised--a lakh of rupees.'
'A lakh!' echoed Tom. 'I tell you that if you have found them--if you
can guide us to where they are--I will make you rich beyond the dreams
of avarice.'
The man gave a deep sigh. 'A lakh!' he said slowly.
'But tell me! tell me!' said Tom.
'A lakh!' he repeated. 'I could win it yet. But I am dying.'
'You shall not die. I have medicines with me and nourishing food. Good
God!' He broke into English in his agitation. 'The man is going, and
he knows something. I read it in his eyes. Hoosanee, bring me wine or
spirits.'
A strong restorative was brought in a cup, which Hoosanee put to the
lips of the stricken man. He swallowed a few drops, and his eyes, which
had been closing, opened once more. Tom was going to speak again; but
Hoosanee stopped him.
'Let me speak, my master,' he said. 'The life is nearly gone, and
flutters like a spent flame. A breath may put it out.'
'Right!' said Tom. 'Take my place!'
Then, in the silence of both cavalcades, Hoosanee stooped over the
litter. 'Do you know me, O brother?' he whispered.
'You are the seller of garnets,' answered Tikaram. 'You came to
Nowgong, and the lotus-eyed trusted you, and you carried her away.'
'She was taken from me, Tikaram.'
'She was taken from you. I saw it all. I followed her to the fort, and
when the evil-hearted Soubahdar took her out of the gates----'
He paused. 'Let my brother go on,' said Hoosanee gently. 'There is no
enemy here. Why did the Soubahdar take the lotus-eyed forth?'
'The White Ranee commanded him. She was black of heart and evil. I saw
her at the gate, and she saw me, and her servants, whom she commanded,
caught me by the girdle and would have slain me, only that the God
whom I serve was my friend. For a night and a day I lay like one dead,
suffering grievously. My strength came back and I set out in search of
her.'
Again his breath failed him; but a few drops of Hoosanee's potion made
him strong enough to go on with his tale.
'There were two--the Miss Sahib and the child. What the Soubahdar would
have with them I knew not. He was known in the villages about, and I
tracked him from place to place; but was never swift enough to come up
with him. Then I lost him. He had gone out of a village in the morning,
and his prisoners, who were still alive, were with him. It was thought
that he was taking them to the hill-countries of the north. But of
this I know nothing, save that they were going north, and that they
travelled by unfrequented ways. After that village, O brother, I lost
him. Some said he was dead; but his body was not found. Miss Sahib and
the child I lost too; but I went on, seeking everywhere.'
'Courage!' whispered Hoosanee. 'My master will make your family rich.'
'I thought I heard of them at last,' he went on. 'But they were alone,
and how could that be? Where was the Soubahdar who had taken them from
the fort?'
'Could he have deserted them?' said Hoosanee--'left them in some jungly
place to be fallen upon by the wild beasts.'
'Why should he do so, O brother, when he could take them out himself
and kill them with the sword? He is not of my religion. He is a Moslem.
This I said to myself, and my trouble was great. But the lakh of
rupees and the eyes of the Miss Sahib, who, as my brother knows, will
sometimes smile graciously on her servants, kept me from going back. I
travelled on till I reached the camp of the Ghoorkas, where I told my
story, and where I was given men and food to take me on.'
'Is that all?' said Hoosanee, very sadly. 'Has my brother come back
unsuccessful?'
'Am I going back?' cried the poor creature, starting up and locking
round with a fierce glitter in his bloodshot eyes. Pain conquered
him, and he lay back groaning. 'I could stand and walk no longer,' he
moaned, 'and they put me in this. But they said, "We are going on, we
camp in new ground every day," and I believed them--I believed them.'
'Perhaps you _are_ going on,' said Hoosanee soothingly. 'This country
is strange to me. But tell me, if you can, why you think that Missy
Grace is here.'
'Have you ever seen Miss Sahib's writing?' said Tikaram.
'My master knows it well. If you have found anything, show it to me,'
cried Hoosanee eagerly.
Tikaram was too weak to move. 'My right hand,' he murmured. 'Open it!'
Pulling aside the light covering that was over him, Hoosanee saw one
of his hands rigid, as it seemed, and firmly closed. He forced it open
as gently as he could, the man's eager eyes following him wistfully.
Tom was close by. He had heard the last words, and he was trembling
from head to foot with impatience. But he had to wait while the
fingers, cramped with the awful sickness of the jungle, were slowly
and painfully unclenched. The hand was nearly open at last. They saw
a scrap of paper, and Tom made a dash to seize it; but, with the
onslaught, the hand, as if moved by a will of its own, closed again.
Then a convulsive shudder ran through the man's wasted frame, and a
long, long sigh broke from his heart.
'He dies,' said one of the Ghoorka soldiers, falling back. 'Give room
for his spirit to pass out of him!'
Space was made round the litter; but Tom stood there still, with
blazing eyes looking down upon the clenched hand, which might, for all
he knew, hold a message for him.
'A moment, master--a little moment,' whispered Hoosanee.
'Try him with your drink!' said Tom.
It was put to his lips; but he could not swallow. Stooping over him,
Hoosanee heard him murmuring the name of his God. 'It is very near,' he
said.
In the next instant the poor creature started up. 'Missy Grace!' he
cried out. 'Missy Grace!'
Tom groaned. 'He knows something. Make him speak. The secret will die
with him!' he sobbed.
'Master,' said Hoosanee solemnly, 'the secret is at your feet.'
For, with the sudden movement, the clenched hand had relaxed, the
fingers had fallen open, and the paper they contained had rolled out
upon the ground.